


Pressure

by thatgirlwhodraws



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Keith (Voltron), Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Top Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws/pseuds/thatgirlwhodraws
Summary: Keith’s problem had always been focus. His emotions got the better of him, leading him to places and people that found him overwhelmed, usually for the worse. He’d lost track of how many fights he’d started, or ended, leaving his body aching, nose bloody and dripping red. Somehow he’d survived this long, scraping by with his skill and intellect, even with his short temper. But there had always been something, someone, who haunted him like a waking nightmare.Shiro.





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciencefictioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/gifts).



> Much thanks to my beloved Sci, who looked over this for me many times. <3

Keith’s problem had always been  _ focus. _ His emotions got the better of him, leading him to places and  _ people _ that found him overwhelmed, usually for the worse. He’d lost track of how many fights he’d started, or  _ ended _ , leaving his body aching, nose bloody and dripping red. Somehow he’d survived this long, scraping by with his skill and intellect, even with his short temper. But there had always been something,  _ someone _ , who haunted him like a waking nightmare. 

 

Shiro. 

 

Keith could pretend he didn’t idolize Shiro before, when he’d been in the garrison; but that would have been a lie. He was one of the best and brightest even before Keith had met him, teachers fawning over him, overwhelmed with his prospects. Even Keith had admired him from afar; taking in the sight of his lean frame, the promise of muscle showing in the hardening lines of his biceps. He wondered if he’d have been as enamoured as he was if he had been a little more self-aware, paid more attention to the men entering the classroom after him on  _ that _ day.

 

It had started when Keith had been put on cleaning duty, a punishment for snapping back at an instructor. Gritting his teeth, he had dug through the closet looking for the wash bucket, hardly noticing when the outer door of the class shut and locked. He had frozen at hearing muffled voices, and he pulled the closet door shut until only a sliver of light was visible, hoping to avoid the instructor and another lecture.

 

His breath had caught when he heard a deep, masculine voice; rough and a little breathless. “Calm down, Takashi. No one uses this room after mid-morning training starts.” Enraptured, Keith took a few steps forward, feet sliding silent across the floor. He nearly halted when he heard a muffled moan, wet, slick sounds and shuddering breaths. Fitting his eye against the crack in the doorway, the sight was burned into his memory, like a brand on his soul. 

 

Shiro, half dressed and flushed in the face. His skin was slick with sweat, as if he’d just come from training. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, the front of his trousers tented, first button undone. Keith’s face had gone crimson; a hand flying to his mouth to cover it as he took in the scene. Shiro was a few inches shy of the man he was with, though half as broad, his body arching into the instructor’s solid chest, gasping as thick fingers snuck under the hem of his tank top, teasing at the top of his pant line. 

 

“Shh— you want to be good for me, don’t you?” The man rumbled, hand palming a handful of Shiro’s ass and squeezing roughly. The gasp Shiro let out sent a jolt of heat into the pit of Keith’s stomach, lighting a fire inside him. 

 

“Yes— yes, sir, please—“ 

 

Keith had never heard Shiro sound like that. Breathless. Desperate. Whimpering,  _ please, sir, _ like a prayer, clumsy and inexperienced. 

 

Keith would never admit to watching, that day. Cupping his cock through his pants and squeezing hard while he watched Shiro get fingered, wet spot forming on the front of his pants. His broken cry when he finally reached orgasm, shaking, clinging to the man in front of him, was the sweetest sound Keith had ever heard. When he crawled out of the closet, later, clutching the wash bucket like a lifeline, he tried to burn off the tension, scrubbing vigorously and trying to banish the image of Shiro’s face, flushed with bliss. 

 

No such luck. 

 

Even when Shiro was gone, sent off into space and possibly dead, Keith thought of him. Obsessed, in his own way; trying to find any scrap of information that would lead him to Shiro.  Ending his sleepless nights by muffling his moans into his fist while his hand worked over his cock in bed, Shiro’s face in his head. 

 

And now, they were together; warriors of Voltron, and Keith’s  _ problem _ had him struggling, though he wouldn’t call it focus now; it was Shiro. Goddamn Takashi Shirogane, and the invisible pressure that seemed to be building between them every time they were alone. Like a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. 

 

Keith had long since accepted that he was in love with Shiro; burned for him, in a way he hadn’t for anyone else. He would live and die for him, fought for his approval. But approaching Shiro with genuine interest seemed so far away; he was their leader, their protector. He didn’t  _ know _ if Shiro would appreciate it, or if he would gently reject him, awkward and apologetic. The thought of it made Keith’s chest feel tight. He didn’t know if he could take it. 

 

But Shiro kept giving him  _ signals. _ Lingering looks, their eyes meeting across the room. His hand, resting on his upper back, then sliding to rest lower, palm splayed just above his tailbone, Keith imagining he could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of his tank top. Their relationship was  _ intimate _ , in a way that Keith desperately wished he wasn’t imagining. So Keith resolved to rectify this problem; he was going to make a move, one of these days. The next time Shiro gave him an opening.

 

—

 

It was late, the rest of the team having tucked in to bed. Keith was restless, the way he often was after a tough fight, after forming Voltron. His body needed to  _ move _ , work off the tension in a way that flying couldn’t. Padding out of his room, he pulled on his boots, a tank top and a loose pair of pants. If he couldn’t find anything else to do, he might as well train. Beat on a target until he cleared the thrumming tension in his bones, until all he could feel was the rhythm.

 

He inhaled sharply when he spotted the light on in the training room already, the sound of fists hitting a target. Stepping in, he spotted Shiro, white and black strands of hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, breathing harshly. He glanced up as Keith walked in, greeting him with a smile.

 

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Shiro bent and picked up a towel, wiping his face and neck. Keith watched a bead of sweat trail down the side of his face and down his chin, sliding down the thick corded muscle of his throat. For a moment all he could see was the image of himself following that line with his tongue, tasting sweat and skin. Swallowing thickly, Keith shook his head to clear it before responding.

 

“Too antsy. It’s been a long day,” He moved to stand beside Shiro, setting up at the bag beside him. He hit the target with a solid blow, watching the bag swing with the force of it. Keith was drawing his fist back again to meet it as it swung, when a metal hand gripped the edge of the bag to halt it, Shiro’s flesh hand resting against his back. 

 

“Let me spot you,” Shiro suggested. His voice was low, breath tickling the hairs on the back of Keith’s neck. He shuddered, unable to repress the reaction, skin tingling where Shiro touched him. Shrugging his hand off, he cleared his throat, nodding and gesturing for Shiro to take position. Shiro’s hand slipped off his back slowly, lingering for a moment before he held onto the bag, offsetting it’s weight with his own. The next blow Keith landed was more satisfying— a solid strike, though Shiro barely did more than blink at his efforts. He was an immovable force.

 

“Something on your mind?” Shiro asked, waiting until another blow had fallen to speak. The question gave Keith pause, his eyes scanning over Shiro’s face, searching. Something in his eyes made his hair stand on end, an electricity in Shiro’s gaze. Keith’s mouth felt suddenly too dry— he swallowed against the lump in his throat, hitting the bag again and hearing Shiro grunt softly. 

 

“What makes you say that?” Keith strained to keep his voice neutral, chest beginning to rise and fall more quickly, sweat on his brow. His stamina wasn’t like Shiro’s; it took time for their leader to tire, while Keith could only hit the bag with force for a short while before he needed a break. Still, it felt good to exert himself, and Shiro made for good support. When Shiro didn’t answer, Keith threw a few quick punches in succession, avoiding the pressure of Shiro’s gaze. The silent question hanging in the air between them. Letting out a huff, Keith made an exasperated noise, wiping sweat off his forehead. 

 

“I guess I’ve had some things on my mind.” Like Shiro. His naked body, solid and  _ strong _ , pinning him to the bed. Fucking him until he screamed himself raw. He pushed the image away, taking a swig from a bottle of water beside him. “Nothing serious. Just… thinking.” 

 

Shiro hummed by way of answer, as if unconvinced. The way his brow arched made a spark of irritation start in Keith’s gut, though it sputtered out when Shiro flashed him a smile, his expression gentle, as if he were afraid of spooking him. “Alright. If you say so.” Stepping away from the bag,  Shiro caught his wrist before he could draw back again. “Hold on. Your form is off,” He caged Keith in with his body, curling a hand at his waist and shoulder. Keith was keenly aware of how close Shiro was, barrel chest pressed to Keith’s back. His skin was still slick with sweat, cheek damp where it touched against Keith’s. The air seemed heavy, charged with  _ something _ unspoken, something Shiro had wanted to say— or wanted  _ Keith _ to say.

 

“Now keep your shoulders level, and…” He drew back enough to avoid Keith’s elbow catching him in the chest, fingers lingering on the nape of his neck. Telling himself the flush on his cheeks was from exertion, Keith put Shiro’s touches out of his mind, trying to draw his focus back to the task at hand. His fist connected more solidly with the bag, making it squeak and groan as it rocked back and forth, and Keith felt a swell of triumph.

 

“Was that better?” Keith turned his head, breath catching when he saw how  _ close _ Shiro had gotten. There was barely an inch of space between them. Keith could feel Shiro’s breath on his face, smell his sweat, his eyes trained on Keith, expectant.  _ Fuck, _ Keith swallowed thickly, his lips parting, trying to remind himself to breathe; it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

 

“Much better,” Shiro murmured, his voice low; almost inviting. His thumb stroked lightly back and forth where it still rested against the nape of his neck, playing with the sweat slick hair there. It sent shivers up his spine, made him want to squirm.

 

_ This is it, _ Keith thought. This was the moment he’d waited for, Shiro watching,  _ waiting _ for him to do it. He could feel pressure building inside him— like a spring wound tight. Felt it squirm up his throat like a hand wrapping around his vocal chords from the inside, cutting off his ability to speak.  His body leaned forward, subtly, his shoulder pressed into Shiro’s chest. All he’d have to do was lean in and  _ do it, _ but something held him back. Like his anxieties were a physical force, preventing him from crossing that threshold.

 

Letting out the ragged breath he had been holding, Keith forced a breath of laughter, taking a few steps back to wipe his face dry on a towel. Hiding against it for a moment, mortified at his own cowardice.  _ You should’ve done it, _ he told himself bitterly, biting his tongue against the frustrated hiss that wanted to escape. “I think that’s enough for me tonight. Thanks for your help,” Keith managed a smile, catching Shiro’s eyes. 

 

Shiro cocked his head, silent — searching. His eyes were sharp and attentive, looking for — something. After a beat, he smiled too, reaching up to ruffle Keith’s hair. “Alright, Keith. Get some sleep. Rest day tomorrow,” He said, his voice firm. It was something he’d been adamant about the past few months, a day of rest after a battle when they had the freedom to. Something about his own mental distress, though Keith suspected it had more to do with letting the team wind down.

 

“Yes sir,” Keith rolled his eyes, shaking his head and giving him a mock-salute. The smile on Shiro’s face sharpened at the edges; almost predatory, as he watched Keith go. It made him feel like he was being stalked by a wolf— or a lion. 

 

“Goodnight, Keith. Be good.” Shiro’s voice was teasing, even as he went back to the punching bag, allowing Keith to slip out undisturbed.

 

That night, Keith spent an hour with his fist around his cock, biting into the sheets. Replaying the scene in his head over and over again, Shiro’s body against his own, deep voice rumbling in his ear. Twisting it in his own mind, until the words matched his desires. Imagining if those hands had wandered— slipped under his tank top and squeezed his thighs, put him up against the wall and taught him something other than fighting form.

 

_ ‘Be a good boy for me, Keith.’ _

 

_ ‘Yes sir.’ _

 

He came with the image of Shiro in his head, putting Keith on his knees. Teaching him how to be  _ good. _

 

Keith lay with his come cooling on his stomach, panting as he stared up at the ceiling. The warm afterglow slowly faded away into nothing, until all that was left was regret. 

 

_ Tomorrow _ , Keith told himself, biting his lip. While everyone else was resting. He couldn’t keep going on like this. Even if Shiro rejected him, it would put some distance between them— and give Keith time to come to terms with his feelings, learn how to shove them down deep where no one could touch. Rolling over and pressing his pillow over his head, he resigned himself to a poor night of sleep, his mind racing through the potential scene he’d set up for himself the following day.

 

—

 

The next day was busy as usual; though not with the usual fare. Instead of focusing on the next attack, the next battle, the team was all over the castle tied up in various tasks; Hunk had new recipes to try. Allura and Coran were out, buying supplies from a nearby marketplace. Lance had decided to spend the day running through advanced simulations Pidge had dreamt up. Pidge was watching with glee, spending the day tinkering to try and throw Lance off, send him flying on his ass. Keith caught Pidge’s maniacal laughter from the hall as he passed, followed by a terrified screech— and he couldn't help but stifle a smile, slipping into one of the sitting rooms they often used to relax in, spotting Shiro on a sleek couch with one arm draped over the armrest, the other propping his head up. There was some alien broadcast on the monitor in front of him, but Shiro seemed disinterested at best. He seemed to perk up when Keith entered, beckoning him to join.

 

Keith tried to keep his heart rate under control, taking a deep, steadying breath before sliding in beside Shiro, a few inches between them on the seat. “All alone huh?” 

 

Shiro laughed, the sound deep and vibrating against the seat. Keith could feel it against his back, licked his lips as Shiro adjusted, until his arm rested over the back of the seat, behind Keith’s head. “For once. It’s not so bad, but it gives me too much time to think.” The words were sobering, and Keith frowned. 

 

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t make you think, but at least I can keep you company.” Keith bumped Shiro gently with his elbow, grazing his ribs. Shiro’s smile widened, and he laid his hand on the nape of Keith’s neck, giving a slow squeeze.

 

“Thank you, Keith. Really.” The weight of Shiro’s gaze was on him again. Keith was close enough to see the dark cut of his eyelashes, count the freckles on his face. He smelled sweetness on his breath that must’ve been from breakfast. It shouldn’t have hit him like a punch to the gut, being this close, but Shiro’s hand was still on his neck, thumb lightly stroking back and forth over Keith’s bare skin. It was a maddening pattern; one that ratcheted up the growing tension in Keith that he was trying to ignore. 

 

“It’s nothing,” Keith was breathless, his voice sounding weaker than he would’ve liked. Keith cleared his throat to try and combat it, fingers curling tight on his knees, knuckles gone white.  _ Just do it, _ he egged himself on, heart pounding hard in his ears. Shiro wasn’t looking at him anymore, focus shifting back to the monitor, but he hadn’t moved away.  _ Do it, do it, do it, _ Keith’s mind screamed, and he swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Forcing a confidence he didn’t feel, Keith shifted until one of his legs curved over Shiro’s lap, then settled his weight heavily on him. 

 

Shiro blinked, surprise flitting across his face briefly— but Keith moved in before he could psyche himself out of it. His lips met Shiro’s in kiss that couldn’t be called anything but desperate, his tongue dipping into Shiro’s open mouth, running over his teeth. Tasting the remnants of what he’d drank minutes before. He felt one of Shiro’s hands hovering just above his hip— knew it was there, even without touching him. When that hand finally settled on his skin, squeezing encouragingly, Keith felt something inside him unravel.

 

Keith leaned more heavily into the kiss, his hands cupping either side of Shiro’s face. The sound was slick and wet, Shiro’s tongue curving to meet his own, wicked and practiced. It tore a gasp from Keith’s lips, a jolt of heat straight down his spine. His nose brushed up against Shiro’s as the kiss deepened; Keith felt like he was drowning. Drowning, and he never wanted to resurface. 

 

When he had to pull back for breath, his face was flushed, pupils dilated with arousal. One of Keith’s hands had shifted to rest against Shiro’s chest, idly stroking as he caught his breath. “If you don’t want to think,” Keith spoke, his voice rough, sounding more steady than he’d expected. “I could probably help with that.”

 

Beneath him, Shiro grinned; it was feral, a slash of teeth that made Keith’s stomach flip, fighting instinct kicking into overdrive. Then Shiro was moving— easily lifting Keith and reversing their positions, pinning him to the couch. Leaning his body weight into Keith until he couldn’t move, trapped beneath him. The cool metal of his hand curled under Keith’s chin— not choking him, but holding onto his throat, the threat of pressing  _ down _ making Keith’s cock twitch in the confines of his pants. He never thought of himself as someone turned on by danger, but Shiro lived to prove him wrong. 

 

“Oh baby,” Shiro rumbled, the sound vibrating through Keith like an invisible caress. “I never thought you’d do it. You’ve been so nervous.” His thumb stroked along Keith’s jaw, then the swell of his lower lip, swollen from kissing. “It’s about time.” 

 

Keith didn’t have time to process that — that Shiro had been  _ waiting _ for him to make a move this entire goddamn time— before Shiro’s mouth was on his again, devouring him. The heat of it seared him; the second kiss feeling more like Shiro was trying to eat him alive. His teeth sunk into Keith’s lower lip and tugged, drawing out a whine from somewhere deep in his chest.

 

“You— you’re an ass,” Keith stammered out, overwhelmed when Shiro finally pulled away. He twisted under him, shivering when he found he couldn’t move. “Have you been waiting for me to do that this whole time?” 

 

“Yes,” There was something smug and satisfied in Shiro’s voice. “I know you’ve always looked at me. I just didn’t know if you wanted to pursue it, so I waited.” Shiro’s metal hand shifted, capturing both of Keith’s hands in his own and pinning them to his chest, like an iron bar he couldn’t break free from. “I think you deserve to be punished for making me wait so long, Keith.”

 

Keith opened his mouth to reply— only to let out a harsh breath when Shiro’s free hand slid under his tank-top, sliding upwards. Pushing it up until it bunched under his arms, baring his chest for Shiro’s inspection. He shifted his hold until he could press Keith’s arms to his stomach, giving him the freedom to cup a hand over his chest, palm flat over a nipple. Shiro’s fingers clamped down, giving the lean muscle of his chest a rough squeeze, drawing a groan out of him. 

 

“What— what do you mean,  _ punished? _ ” He could barely focus, not with Shiro’s hands finally,  _ finally _ on him. Keith’s body arched into a sharp curve, feeling Shiro’s fingers capture a nipple and tug, just hard enough that the sweet sting of it made his hips jerk. Shiro seemed unhurried; leisurely in his exploration of Keith, fingers drifting across his chest to give the other nipple the same treatment. Keith could do little more than writhe under him, trying to buck up and find friction, anything to rub up against. Shiro clicked his tongue, using his knees to spread Keith’s wide— unable to close around Shiro’s hips, where he knelt in front of him. 

 

“You made me wait,” Shiro said simply, leaving Keith’s nipples red and aching when his hands drew away. “So you’re going to have to be patient for me, now.” 

 

He hummed, dipping his head to run his tongue over the skin he’d just abused, almost purring at the desperate, hungry sound Keith let out in response. The soft pressure of his tongue was sweet in the wake of the rougher treatment— but didn’t last long, the hard press of Shiro’s teeth following it, igniting a sharp sting all over again. Keith let out a sound close to a yelp, though he was shuddering afterwards, groaning when Shiro blew air softly over his aching skin. 

 

“Do you need a safe word?” Shiro’s tone was teasing, but he paused— met Keith’s eyes with a serious expression, his head cocked. Hand hovering over the waistline of Keith’s pants, fingering at the edge of the fabric.

 

Keith felt like all the air had been punched out of him. Too little oxygen to focus with Shiro’s hands and mouth on him, the promise of  _ more _ , even if there was ‘punishment’ in his future. If he said no here, he might cry out— ask Shiro to stop, when he didn’t want him to. Chewing on his lip, he drew in a shuddering breath, exhaling hard. 

 

“Um — ‘red’.” His voice was small, but steady, enough to show Shiro he was willing, even with his nerves buzzing with new sensations. The grin he received in return was  _ filthy _ , Shiro’s hair mussed from where Keith’s hands had clung to him so desperately in that first kiss.

 

“‘’Red’, huh? Should’ve guessed.” Shiro chuckled, arching a brow in question; then laughing when Keith scowled in response and jabbed his heel half-heartedly against Shiro’s back, petting a hand over Keith’s navel to placate him. “Good boy.” Shiro hummed, dropping a kiss to Keith’s stomach— smiling against his skin when Keith groaned. It shouldn’t have made him want to spread his legs wider, open himself up for whatever punishment Shiro had in store for him. “Is that it, Keith? Do you want to be a good boy for me?” 

 

_ Yes, yes, yes. _ It was all Keith had ever wanted, fantasies morphing in his mind over the years, even if the first time he’d seen Shiro in a compromising position he’d been the one getting felt up. He had seen the shift in Shiro, going from someone who had to be  _ taught _ to someone who could take a boy like Keith and make them writhe all on his own.

 

“I do,” Keith said, voice shaking. He surprised himself at the conviction in his voice, and wet his lips, turning his face away with the admission as Shiro pressed a warm kiss to his temple.

 

“I know you do. I’ll show you how.” Shiro promised, in a way that Keith felt he should brace himself.

 

If Keith had thought letting Shiro take control would be simple, he knew now he was wrong.

 

Shiro’s hands roamed over his body— pressing his wrists to the couch and indicating he should stay. Keith’s fingers balled into fists, hands resting above his head, as if bound by invisible ropes. Shiro’s fingers brushed lower again, tugging his pants down around his ankles.

 

Smiling against his throat, Shiro ran a hand down Keith’s chest and stomach, fingers curling around the length of cock. “You’re so wet already,” Shiro hummed, spreading drops of precome with his fingertips to decrease the friction. Any response Keith had died on his tongue as Shiro squeezed and stroked from base to tip, his hips trying to buck up into the pressure; hissing out a breath through his teeth when the fingers drew away. Only when Keith stopped squirming did the touch return, a pleased sound escaping Shiro’s lips. “That’s it. Just let me take care of you, Keith.”

 

The pace he set was infuriating. Slow strokes that grew rougher as Shiro drew towards the sensitive tip of his cock, just shy of being painful. Keith’s breath turned ragged, his body twisting on the padding of the couch, material squeaking in protest. Shiro’s hands would shift, cupping his balls and squeezing-- hard enough to make his hips snap up, a whine of protest on Keith’s lips before he was gentled again, fingers stroking fast over the tip of his cock. 

 

All too soon, Keith felt a heat beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. His chest rose and fell with gulping breaths, thighs tense and trembling and pressing against Shiro’s sides where he was knelt in front of him. “Shiro-- I, fuck--” He held his breath, eyes clamping shut.

 

All at once, Shiro’s hands left him-- moving to his hips instead, holding them still. Keith let out a stuttered breath, a shocked sound that ended in a confused growl. “What are you-- nh,” He gripped the couch with both hands to resist the urge to touch himself, his body still buzzing with pleasure as the peak of orgasm faded away, leaving him hard and unsatisfied. 

 

“Not yet,” Shiro chided him, as if reminding him of something. His face was flushed, but he looked no more worn otherwise. Far less desperate than Keith felt. “I told you. You have to be patient, alright?” Shiro pressed a warm, wet kiss to the tip of his leaking cock, holding Keith down through the jerk that followed. When he was certain Keith had calmed down enough, he wrapped his fingers around his cock again, working over him more slowly than before. 

 

Keith’s nerves were raw. He felt twitchy, sensitive, too soon after his near orgasm. “Am I-- am I going to get to come at all?” His words came out in a frustrated growl that trailed off into a startled groan when Shiro focused on the tip of his cock, squeezing the head in his fist-- a pace that made Keith’s stomach twist with anticipation a second time. 

 

“You’ll get to come.” Shiro said idly, eyes flicking between Keith’s face and the steady rise and fall of his hand. All too soon, his hand pulled off again-- leaving Keith jerking under him, an animal sound torn from his throat. He’d been close,  _ again, _ only for Shiro to leave him straining towards nothing, his cock twitching hard in the open air.  The sound of his breathing was too loud, harsh against the background noise of the monitor. Shiro looked smug, leaning his weight into Keith, careful not to give him anything to rub up against. “Just not yet.” Shiro continued as if he’d never stopped speaking, petting a hand over Keith’s hip while he caught his breath. 

 

Shiro set a merciless pattern. Starting slow, his thumb flicking against the underside of Keith’s cock, finding the spots where he was sensitive and committing them to memory. Each time Keith felt himself rising towards that peak, Shiro would stop-- coo at him appreciatively while Keith shook and groaned, cock flushed hard and purple at the tip. His shirt was damp with sweat where it was bunched up to his chest, face flushed and shiny, frustration making his features pinch together. By the time Shiro had worked him up a fourth time, Keith nearly sobbed-- twisting under him, forcing Shiro to hold him through the snapback of tension that fizzled out before he could release. 

 

“I  _ can’t-- _ ” It was too much, Shiro was murmuring something soothing into his ear, both hands rubbing over his back -- and Keith felt damned now. His body was on fire, nerves alight. He could feel himself calming back down, but even the brush of the couch material against his cock made him jerk. Too sensitive, refusing to touch his cock for fear the madness would end. 

 

“Shhh,” Shiro soothed him, lips brushing his temple. “You can. Just one more for me, Keith.” He squeezed Keith’s hip reassuringly, nose against his ear. “You can do that, can’t you? You’re so good,” The praise struck something inside Keith’s core, soothed the fractured parts inside him until his mind was filled with a numb haze. Nothing mattered but Shiro, the pleasure he felt; all thoughts and worries were swamped out by the intensity of it. 

 

“I-- I can do it,” Keith finally managed, his voice rougher than he’d realized. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, he shifted back into the position Shiro had put him in at the beginning-- hands over his head, gripping at the couch. Thighs spread and trembling. Shiro inhaled sharply through his nose-- and bent his head, lips meeting Keith’s in a way that stole his breath. Suddenly, Keith realized Shiro wasn’t as unaffected as he’d thought. He could feel the hard line of his cock inside Shiro’s pants, pressing against his leg, heard the shudder in his breathing like he was trying to maintain control.

 

“That’s it,” Shiro breathed, wrapping a hand around him again, smiling at the mewling sound Keith made in response. He wasn’t as gentle this time-- his hand stroking from base to tip with ruthless efficiency, like he was trying to milk Keith dry. All too soon, Keith’s hips started twitching up, fingers digging harder into the couch. When he drew his hand away this time, Keith let out a desperate cry-- and Shiro let him writhe, fingers petting through his hair while Keith’s hips jerked up into nothing, the muscles of his stomach spasming, trying to compensate for the sudden lack of stimulation. Keith felt tear tracks on his cheeks, felt Shiro’s thumb catch one before it could fall. 

 

“That’s what I wanted,” Shiro hummed, fingers stroking over his hip. “Breathe for me. You’re my good boy, Keith, you did so well.” The praise floated towards Keith from somewhere far away, his body still humming with need, but it was -- exhilarating. Like he was being held and rocked in an ocean in the stars. “You ready for your reward, baby?” Shiro’s voice had gotten that teasing edge to it again, making Keith laugh, a little breathless. 

 

“Don’t know if I’ll survive it,” Keith slurred. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, too heavy in the wake of the endorphins rushing through him. Shiro chuckled in response, shifting until he slid to a seated position in front of him -- tugging Keith’s thighs over his shoulders. 

 

“Then why don’t you just sit there and let me take care of it.” 

 

Keith had no time to process that statement-- before something wet and hot wrapped around his cock, making what few thoughts he could muster scatter all over again. Shiro’s mouth was like slick velvet; his tongue was wicked and practiced, head bobbing until he could take him to the hilt. Keith’s hands flew to Shiro’s hair, twisting in white and black for purchase. Shiro hummed, but didn’t stop him -- cradling Keith’s hips to give him support. 

 

He lost track of time, absorbed in the weight of Shiro’s body against him, the way his mouth felt around his cock. The slick, hungry sounds Shiro let out, like he couldn’t get enough of the taste. If Keith had been of sounder mind, he might’ve been embarrassed-- but that was lost when Shiro’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock, probing at the slit in the tip. That was what broke the dam, Keith making a strangled sound that was meant to be a warning before it overtook him.

 

It was like getting hit with a freight train -- intense enough to leave him shaking, his voice raw when Keith cried out. His thighs tensed, ankles almost crossed behind Shiro’s head. His hips bucked and jerked, out of his control, like his body had been possessed by an invisible force. Shiro kept milking him through it-- swallowing, again and again, until Keith started to writhe with oversensitivity, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

 

Shiro released him with a wet sound, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Keith knew how he must look; fucked, his face red and slick with tears, gasping for air like he was drowning. The world around him seemed to go out of focus, narrowed down to the two of them. Shiro’s fingers found his own, interlacing them together.

 

“How about we get you in the bath?” Shiro suggested mildly, seeming unfazed by the fact his cock was hard and tenting the front of his pants. “Then we can discuss this some more.” He bent his head, pressing a kiss to Keith’s temple. It shouldn’t have made Keith feel as warm as he did, but he nodded-- fumbling with his clothes before Shiro took over, tucking him carefully back into his pants. 

 

“Is  _ this… _ us? Is it a good thing?” Keith’s words were slurred-- he didn’t know if he was making sense. He didn’t know if he could survive this being a one time thing, not after years of yearning he was still too embarrassed to admit to.

 

Something in Shiro’s expression softened, his smile less smug this time as he cupped the side of Keith’s face. “Yeah, Keith. Us.” He shifted, lifting Keith into his arms with relative ease, ignoring the sputtered words of protest. “It can be a good thing. If you want it to be.” He pressed a kiss to Keith’s lips, silencing him before he could respond. “Now, I think I said something about a bath first.” 

 

As Shiro moved him from the room, Keith allowed himself the luxury of pressing his face into Shiro’s throat, breathing in the masculine scent of him. Something had shifted; as if all that pressure between the two of them had finally found a release. It was as if something had clicked into place, a premonition from a long time ago.

 

It could be a good thing. Keith desperately wanted it to be.


End file.
